A call came from the lookout atop the mainmast.
“What the bugger’s that?” queried Colson, but Daniel and Neville exchanged quick glances, knowing it was ‘Sail ho!’ in French.
Neville turned to his fellow midshipman and spoke in a lowered, conspiratorial voice. “Colson, listen. That was ‘Sail, ho’ in French, and you know we speak it, but I think you shouldn’t tell anyone, right? We might learn things if they speak French around us. We’ll ask the rest of us Castors not to tell ‘em, neither, right?”
An hour later, topsails hove slowly into view – one and then more, followed by the courses of several ships. No attempt by Patriote or Prosperine to avoid the oncoming ships as hulls appeared and, by mid-afternoon, they were hove to together with a larger French fleet on steadily lessening seas.
“Look there,” said Neville. “That signal has just broken out on that big ship there, and there’s quite a stir starting here. Can you help me remember these signals, Daniel? It really might come in handy.”
“Handy for what? We’ll be sitting in some French prison soon.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist. Let’s see what happens, and maybe we’ll know what they all mean. If naught else, it’ll give us a puzzle to work. I wish I had a glass.”
“Oh, I think I know that’n right now. There goes a boat out. That signal must be ‘captain come visit,’ or such like. Yes, here he comes, and they’re blowing their pipe just like Mr. Tillman does.”
Fifty Englishmen were sent aboard the Sans Pareil. The ship was presently the flagship of Rear Admiral Joseph-Marie Nielly. Her commander was Flag Captain Courand.
“Quite a huge ship, ain’t she?” O’Hanlan posed to Neville and Daniel.
“It’s too bad they kept the doctor on Castor, but maybe it’s a good thing. If any of our men get hurt, at least they can talk English to a doctor.”
“Can we write letters?” Watson asked.
Colson, having been counted with the lieutenants for dinner with the Admiral, answered, “They said we can write all we want, but they won’t send them ‘till we’re back to port and they put us ashore. They don’t want us telling anyone t’home where their ships are. They might trade us for French officers that get captured, too, so maybe we ain’t all stuck ‘till the end of it.”
“The worst thing is,” said Neville, “I fear that news will go home to me mum. She’ll worry some terrible. If they print about the capture of HMS Castor in the London Gazette and somebody gives it to her, she’ll fret something awful.”
“Oh,” continued Colson, “Captain stood up and got us all to give our parole not to try to mutiny on them so’s we could walk about the ship instead of being locked down here all day. That’s about all I got out of it. Good food, though, and a very fancy cabin back there.”
Eleven May, 1794 dawned overcast, but somewhat warmer, with only a light westerly breeze and low mounding seas. Unusual activity began among the fleet.
“Look there, Neville. More sail,” said Daniel, pointing to the northwest.
“That corvette, there – I think the name is Marie-Guiton – is the one that sailed off when we first had the Frenchies come up, ain’t she?”
“That’s her; she was a messenger, sure enough. They look to be going to meet the approaching sail.” For several hours they watched ships sail by.
“Some of those are our convoy, you see? I counted ten of ours,” said Lt. Tripp. “Not so bad, then, if the rest got away.”
In two days’ time, more sails became visible in the west. Not one or two, but a multitude.
An excited call of “Convoy” (in French) came from above, and a great cheering began aboard the Sans Pareil. Several French lieutenants were seen scrambling into the tops.
A row of English officers stood along the windward rail near the larboard gangway above the waist, with Neville at the aft end. Out the corner of his eye, Neville noticed a civilian sidling up to him, but he turned back to watch the pageant of ships beginning to appear. He was not sure, after all, how he should behave if approached by any French person aboard this ship, particularly a civilian. This person was not dressed as an officer, and certainly not as a seaman.
The man leaned on the rail as the English were doing, and said in a quiet voice, “Please do not make a show of recognition, if you please, Mr. Burton. Just shake my hand and I will introduce myself.”
Neville could not help but snap his head ‘round to see who it was. After a brief look, during which he said nothing, he recovered well enough to stretch out his arm to the hand offered. The Frenchman was a curly-headed man with a clean-shaven square chin, wide-set brown eyes and bushy eyebrows. He was a heavy fellow; not fat, but strong-looking. He wore a cravat – the same cravat he had worn when last they met. He was taller than Neville remembered, but he had not seen him stand in Toulon.
“Good afternoon, Sir,” said the man in English in a normal conversational tone. “It is good that I at last meet one of the officers of the Castor. I am Monsieur Georges Cadoudal. I am here aboard in a capacity of the French news system – ‘Le Moniteur’ specifically, to report on our Navy’s success in protecting food from America that is much needed at home and, in so doing, popularize the navy in France.” He turned and waved his arm across the spread of ocean containing the oncoming flotilla. As one might expect a Frenchman to act in this situation, he queried, “What do you think of this magnificent display of sea power?”
“Good afternoon, Sir,” replied Neville, as formally as he could make himself sound. “It certainly is a good many ships.”
Lt. Tripp, next to Neville, looked around Neville’s back and joined in, “Good afternoon, Sir. It is our pleasure to meet you as well,” extending his hand. “It is also good to know there is someone else aboard with a good command of the English language. This is a convoy from America?”
“Yes, lieutenant, with grain. There should be a hundred and twenty-seven ships under the guard of our Commodore Van Stabel. We have been out here in the Atlantic looking to find them and assist Commodore Van Stabel these last several weeks, and we have found them at last. I am glad of it, in all life, as now we may sail home. We thought we might have found our convoy when we came across you but, alas, it was not. I am sorry for your misfortune in such a peaceful duty. Oh, a question for you gentlemen: Do you count a scientific man in your company?”
“No longer, Sir. We carried a Doctor Mills aboard the Castor, but your countrymen considered his services a necessity there and kept him,” Neville submitted dejectedly, understanding Georges’ interest.
“Ah, well, I had hoped to discuss English developments in agriculture, but no matter. I must go now, but it will be a pleasure to meet each of you. We will certainly have time,” concluded Neville’s Toulon acquaintance, and he walked away aft.
“What do we do with this fellow?” muttered Lt. Tripp when Georges had left earshot. “A newspaper man? I think we should be careful what we tell him, particularly about our navy, but we should be friendly enough to find out what he will tell us. I’ll talk to the captain about him. We’ve plenty of time for that, too.”
“Not that we know much of anything about our navy,” scoffed Colson. “We’ve been gone so long.”
Unlike previous days when they were equal midshipmen, O’Hanlan said nothing, but did manage a roll of the eyes.
They stayed at the rail watching for hour upon hour until the entire sea to their north was a constant line of sails from west to east.
As if joining the parade, Sans Pareil’s sails soon fell and filled; she leaned away from the breeze and began to surge forward.
“The whole fleet goes now,” observed Troubridge. “The lot of us – ships, frigates and corvettes – all filling their sails. We are away north by west.”
A calmer, more pleasant motion ensued than they were used to on the Castor.
Neville and Daniel returned to their favorite lounging area on the foredeck in the morning. With the wind astern, it offered relative comfort and seemed
to be more out of the way of most of the ship’s activity. Tripp walked up to where the midshipmen were drinking their pots of coffee. A moment passed in silence.
“One of their seventy-four’s, the Audacieux, is gone, and two smaller ships, the twenty-gun Républicaine and sixteen-gun Inconnue, as well,” Watson observed.
“Some of those corvettes are gone, too, Sir,” reported Neville.
“Yes, I would expect so,” Tripp said. “Gone to give the news to whatever other French squadrons are in these seas. I suspect we are all added to the convoy’s defenses as we approach the Bay of Biscay and possible English interference ….
“In any event, I spoke with the captain,” Tripp said in a lowered voice, “and he has agreed with my guidance regarding that Georges fellow. ‘Have whatever conversation you want,’ he says, ‘preferably about horses or the weather, as long as you don’t give anything away.’ Lieutenant Froste was there when I reported, as well, so he knows of it.”
At mid-day, Sans Pareil also parted company with the convoy, changing her course east or a trifle north of it.
The English were also permitted on the poop in these days, but were admonished to stay well aft of the binnacle and out of the way of any of the French officers, particularly the captain. This was no surprise and was well respected, as they would have expected the same were the tables turned. Neville and Daniel often enjoyed the leeward corner of the taffrail. From this vantage, they could hear much of the day’s business and put it in context, it being so similar to their own navy’s procedures.
“Duvall’s gone again, Neville,” said Daniel, “the English-speaking one.”
“So he is. Have you heard anything of interest today?”
“No. I think they will have no more news themselves until we speak another ship.”
“I’m sure you’re right. I’ll pass that on to one of the lieutenants.”
In such strange and communal surroundings, they were on occasion able to make a report directly to the captain. He had little more to do in these days than his midshipmen. They came to know him, and the lieutenants, as well – more than the typical midshipman would ever know his captain.
Georges approached Neville again one late afternoon, just before dusk. “You are alone, I see, Mr. Burton. I see your ear has healed nicely, but you have some new wound above your eye. Are you enjoying this pleasure cruise?”
“You remember I had cut my ear, do you? That’s a good memory. It was bandaged in Toulon, wasn’t it? And, I’ve hurt my eye, yes. I needed two small stitches where I was knocked on the head in Newfoundland. They have both healed well, thank you, and don’t show scars. This cruise has its advantages, Mr. Cadoudal,” he continued. “We have no watches to stand. But, it is rather boring, and we don’t even know where we are, as they do not permit us to take sightings.” In truth, since he and Watson could catch enough of the discussion around the binnacle, he did overhear their position.
Perhaps I do not completely trust him, thought Neville, or I might not have added that last.
“Dull for me as well,” admitted Georges. “I had hoped when we embarked that we would be back ashore by now.” He lowered his voice more, and continued, “Now we chase about the ocean looking for Contre-Admiral Villaret de Joyeuse’s squadron. His job is to give additional protection to the convoy against your Channel Fleet, or simply to attack them, as you would expect. You know it would not go well for me if it was known I tell you even this much, yes?”
“I would suspect it, even so. So why do you?”
“Do you know if Dr. Mills was able to pass along those papers you carried from Toulon?”
“Yes, they were sent by despatch almost immediately. What were they about?”
“Oh, that is not a question you should ask. Just know that they were of interest to your government.”
Lowering his voice even more, Neville asked the question of his highest suspicion: “You are a spy, then?”
“That is a most dangerous thing to suggest. Let us just say that I am sometimes of help to England from abroad. Your captain most definitely should not know of me, other than what I have said publicly.”
“Why do I know? How did I get into this?”
“I am afraid that what happens within your navy is not much of my concern. Perhaps you will have a chance to ask Dr. Mills?”
“Not likely,” groused Neville, “under the circumstances.”
“A shame, certainly. Be sure your captain hears what I tell you, without mention of me. He may have an opportunity to use it to advantage. I will pass along such things as I may hear.”
“Thank you, then. Good evening.”
“And to you, Sir,” concluded M. Cadoudal, leaving Neville to his thoughts and the sounds of waves along the hull and wind in the rigging.
The Sans Pareil patrolled the Bay of Biscay for a week, tacking about much as the Castor had done in Toulon, but with a much larger scope. They saw nothing upon the ocean that did not live there; a few whales and porpoises crossed their path, and only pelagic birds – the petrels and shearwaters.
As the end of May neared, thoughts of naval actions took second place to survival. The sky turned a uniform gray, deep enough that the height of the sun could not be guessed at. Bolts of lightning blasted holes in the gray, and thunder rolled deeply across the waves. Heavy rain followed. Sans Pareil rigged manropes and shortened sail to only jibs and a reefed forecourse. They scudded southeast, trying as best they could to keep track of the ships around them. The ship rolled heavily as huge waves raced beneath them for two days until the storm blew itself. Then they set about working the convoy back together and onto their desired course for France.
“Look there to the south, Lieutenant Tripp,” said Lt. Froste on the 29th of May. “I believe I read her name as Montagnard. She is battered hard. Even from here, we can see the damage without a glass. All morning she has worked her way awkwardly toward an intersection point to the east. I expect that damage was done by our own English Navy. She files only a few sails in a very strange pattern. They may be all she has left.” For several hours, they watched the scrambled vessel approach. Signals flew.
“You see that one, Daniel? I am sure of it now; it is ‘come here’ or ‘gather together’, or the like, and t’other is ‘acknowledge’, I’ve no doubt.”
Van Stabel’s ship also materialized, and they all set their sails aback and hove to; boatswain’s pipes twittered, and drums were beat while Captain Courand went over the side.
“And that signal, Daniel, is ‘repair to flag’. We have seen it more than once. And, you see, there goes ‘acknowledge’ again.”
The same was taking place aboard the Montagnard, which had come much closer, and the two captains’ boats crawled across the water to Van Stabel’s like a pair of water-walking bugs. From this vantage, they could view the injured ship reasonably well.
“Rigging cut, shot holes in the hull,” observed Tripp. “She looks a bit low in the water, and you can see that they are working the pumps hard.”
“Decks all ahoo still, after at least a day; and look, you can see where blood has run out the scuppers. There must have been a battle most fierce,” suggested Froste. “Pass the word. No one had better shout ‘hurrah’ or give some other cheer. It would not sit well. I am sure there were many killed on that ship.”
When Captain Courand returned, he summoned his officers to his cabin. They emerged in another half hour and called for all hands to assemble.
All English seamen were sent below; officers were relegated to the foredeck.
The assembly was brief. There was obviously bad news, during which several faces turned forward with unpleasant looks, and there was good news, which was greeted with cheering. At length, a declaration was made that caused some kind of a rousing cheer, and the men raced to their stations as any company does when sailing orders are given. During this congregation, neither Neville nor Daniel attempted to interpret for the other officers, reticent to give out any notion of their abil
ity with French.
Dusk found them, together with several other vessels of Nielly’s squadron, sailing south.
The English later huddled in their quarters below. There was no reason to hide the fact that they would discuss what had happened, but they still kept a watch and spoke in low voices.
“Georges has not shown himself,” began Neville, since his command of French continued to be far better than Watson’s, “so we can only tell you what we understood. I’m sure Georges will fill us in if I haven’t got it right, but I’d guess that, at this moment, he is in a great discussion of it all to get his story for their news sheets. I am sure you caught the names of the English ships involved, yes?”
“I heard them speak of Bellerophon, Leviathan, and Lord Howe, so the other ship name that they pronounced so badly must have been the Queen Charlotte. She’s his flagship,” said Captain Troubridge.
“I heard also the Terrible, which I know to be a French one-hundred-ten-gun ship, added Lt. Froste.”
“Yes, yes. The battle was yesterday, the 28th May. First, Villaret’s whole fleet managed to escape Brest a week ago, sneaking past Howe in a fog,” began Neville.
“Contemptible,” muttered Troubridge. “Let a whole fleet sail away.”
“But he chased them and caught up yesterday,” interjected Watson. “Great fleets of ships on both sides, there were, and the vans began shooting broadsides at great range. Both sides suffered, but Montagnard worst, which is why she is here.”
“Her captain – Duplantier, I think – watched Queen Charlotte … you are right, captain, he did pronounce it very badly … and the Leviathan cut the French lines. He could see that the Queen did great harm to – something like AY-OLE.”
“Eole, and also Tyrannicide, Indomptable, and Terrible,” said Watson, “at close range. I think this is when the French looked ‘round at us.”
The Glorious First Of June (Neville Burton: Worlds Apart Book 1) Page 16